Irreplaceable
by Donny's Boy
Summary: Things haven't been good between Raph and Don ever since Leo left. But when a brother needs you, Raph knows that you have to step up and deliver. Raph and Don centric, set in the movie universe after the 2007 film. Now with revisions and deleted scenes!
1. Part I

"Irreplaceable"

By Donny's Boy

---

Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the plot relating to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I am making no money from this story. I mean no harm.

Warnings: Discussion of emotionally mature topics, but no sex, violence, language, etc.

---

**Part I**

"No, that's not the right part either."

Raphael growled low in the back of his throat. He was getting really sick and tired of hearing that. Standing up, he stretched his back as much as his shell would allow. Then he glanced around the small, dingy alley he was in and heaved a heavy sigh. He hated being here. He wished he was out with Casey right now, beating up punks or just having a few brews. Or, actually, doing anything but what he was currently doing: dumpster-diving with his geek brother.

While Raph stretched his muscles, cramped from spending over an hour hunched over the dumpster's edge, Donatello kept on merrily picking through the garbage. Raph glared at the back of Don's head, which made him feel a little better. "Tell me again, Don," he said, "why I gotta be here for this little shopping trip o' yours."

"Because it's important that we get a replacement part for the south-side security camera." Don's head popped up. With a badly-strained patience he continued, "And if you're going to learn how to run the security system, it's important that you learn how to do repairs on it—including how to find suitable replacement parts."

"And just who said I wanna learn this crap?"

Donatello sighed and began rubbing his temple. "You're giving me a headache, Raph."

"Oh, cry me a river. This stinks."

"Quite literally, yes." Don stood up straight and let the dumpster lid slide shut. Raph guessed that meant they were done—done with this particular dumpster, anyways. "No one has said you want to learn this, Raph, because that is obviously not the case. You _need_ to learn it, however."

Raph really doubted that and felt free to let his facial expression say so. "You're the geek, Donny. You like doing this stuff, so why do I hafta?"

"Because," said Don slowly, still massaging his forehead, "I am a very busy turtle, and it would be extraordinarily helpful if I wasn't the only one who could take care of such matters."

"If you say so."

Lapsing into tense silence, together the brothers began climbing up the nearby fire escape. When they'd almost reached the top, Don lost his footing, and Raph had to quickly grab on to steady him. Though it had been tempting, ever so slightly tempting, to just let Don take the fall. It wasn't like it would have killed him. Maybe just break a bone or dislocate a shoulder or something.

Raph's disgruntlement must have been showing on his face because, once on the roof, Don coughed in embarrassment and said, "Sorry about that, Raph. This stupid migraine is messing with my balance a bit."

Purposely ignoring the apology, Raph turned away and inhaled deeply. Fresh, clean air. It was almost intoxicating, after breathing in the _eau de garbage_ for an hour. As the two tired turtles made the trek back home, the silence stretched between them like a yawning chasm. Finally it started to get under Raph's skin, the silence did, so he said as if there hadn't been a pause in the conversation, "Why don't ya teach Mikey about your toys instead of me? You and him are best buds an' all, it'd make a lot more sense."

"Mikey isn't patient enough to work with electronics."

"So teach Leo!"

Don glanced over to his brother with a withering glare. "You know just as well as I do, Raphael, that Leo is completely techno-phobic." He sighed. "The guy can barely work the microwave."

Raph frowned. He couldn't argue with that. He was tempted to keep arguing anyway, but ultimately he knew it was futile.

In the end, it all came down to Master Splinter, as so many of these things did. Splinter thought Donny's idea was fantastic. To have a back-up tech guy was very resourceful and prudent and whatnot and so forth. Not to mention a good opportunity for Don and Raph to—ugh—spend quality, brotherly "one-on-one time." Where Splinter had gotten the idea that swimming around in dumpsters was quality _anything_, Raph had no clue.

---

Filled with pent-up energy, Raphael shifted from foot to foot. He wanted to get _on_ with it. True, waiting had never been his strong point, but the morning's practice had been delayed by fifteen minutes. That meant fifteen minutes just standing stock-still in the dojo, staring straight ahead at the plain monochromatic brick, while trying (and mostly failing) to stay awake since it was an ungodly early hour anyway.

Raph was going to kill Donatello. It was as simple as that.

"Michelangelo." Splinter's voice sounded oddly loud in the otherwise quiet room. "Please go wake up your brother and remind him that we are awaiting his arrival."

"Sure thing, Sensei," Mikey chirped, immediately bounding towards the dojo door. Raph guessed poor Mike was just grateful for a chance to move around. After he left, the dojo returned to its former silence. Raph could feel the tension in Leonardo, too, as they waited. He wondered if it was simply from a desire to begin his katas or whether Leo was also ticked off at Donny. After all, it was the third time this week that Don had overslept and shown up late to training.

Five long minutes passed before Mikey returned with a sleepy-looking Donatello in tow. As Don took his place on the practice mats, he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Master Splinter. I don't know why I didn't hear my alarm clock."

Splinter was unmoved. "You shall stay after today's practice and perform twenty flips."

"Yes, Sensei." Don sighed, as the smile slipped from his face.

Meanwhile, Raphael bit back a snort. Twenty flips seemed like an awful light punishment to him. He shot a quick glare in his purple-masked brother's direction. Maybe he'd get lucky, though, and get to spar with Don during practice. Beating up on Donny for a while just might make things a little better.

For perhaps the first and only time in his short life, Raph got exactly what he wanted. Master Splinter paired him and Don for sparring.

Raph launched himself at his brother with full force. Don parried blows and dished out the usual defense, but it wasn't long before he was overpowered. Grinning, Raph pressed his advantage.

A swift swipe at Don's side. _That_ was for the stupid dumpsters last night.

A punch that grazed Don's shoulder. _That_ was for being late to practice and making them all wait.

A kick that made a satisfying _thump_ as it connected with Don's head. _That_ was for the—

Before Raph could even complete the thought, he was brought up short by seeing Don fall backwards and collapse to the floor.

"Donny!"

Raph fairly flew to Don's side, crouching and helping him back to his feet. But just as Raph opened his mouth to apologize, Don wrenched free and stumbled out of the room. A moment later, all those remaining behind heard, from somewhere outside the dojo, loud retching noises.

Immediately Leonardo whirled around to face Raphael. "Raph! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"I didn't kick him that hard," Raph protested, as Leo glared. At least, he hadn't thought that he'd kicked Don that hard.

Leo only growled and took one threatening step forward, and that's all it took. In a flash, Raph was across the room, his face inches away from his eldest brother's, his fists clenched at his sides. Then Mikey appeared out of nowhere, tugging on Raph's arm and whispering something conciliatory, but Raph just shook him off as he would an annoying puppy.

"Boys!"

The three turtles turned to see Master Splinter frowning severely. "Leonardo. Raphael. Ten flips each."

Mike let out a soft, relieved sigh.

"It wasn't Raph's fault."

They all turned to see Donatello standing in the dojo doorway, leaning heavily against the wall and looking kind of shaky on his feet. Splinter's whiskers twitched furiously.

"It wasn't Raph's fault," Don repeated, more firmly this time. "I haven't been feeling very well the last few days, and I guess it's been affecting my sparring. I'm sorry, Sensei."

The old rat nodded. "Then you will return to bed. I will see to you shortly."

After Don had left again, Raph gave Leo a triumphant look. Leo frowned sourly in return. They trudged to the far wall and began their ten flips, counting off as they completed each one. Though Raph enjoyed being right—and enjoyed its corollary: Leo being wrong—he couldn't completely ignore the twinge of discomfort in the pit of his stomach.

Don had covered for him, and Raph didn't know why. It's not like he'd done anything lately to get into Don's good graces. Quite the opposite, actually, and Don sure hadn't endeared himself to Raph. And this was a bit worrying, because Donatello always had a very careful, very meticulously-considered reason for everything he did.

Always.

---

The glow that emanated from the computer monitors was pale, blue, and sickly. Raph hated it. Not only did it cast weird shadows against all the walls in Don's small computer nook, when it bathed Don in that cold blue light, it made his face somewhat resemble a corpse's. Which was a deeply unsettling visual effect, though Raph would never admit that out loud.

Don's voice suddenly interrupted Raph's musings: "Are you even paying attention?"

Raphael's eyes snapped back into focus. "No," he said, with a small shrug. "Anyways, what was up with the puking earlier? I was pullin' my punches, ya wimp."

Donatello sighed. "Don't deflect."

"Well, don't use them ten dollar words just to make me feel dumb."

"You know, that is so typical," snapped Don, standing from his desk chair, "to think that my choice of vocabulary would have anything at all to do with you." He walked over to the long shelves on the opposite wall. He grabbed a small bottle and unscrewed the cap. "Not _everything_ is about the mighty, all-important Raphael."

Raph chuckled. "Coulda fooled me."

Don just harrumphed and shook out a few pills from the bottle he held. Tossing his head back, he swallowed the pills dry. Watching, Raph frowned. Another headache? Maybe Don had had one earlier, too, and that's why he had gotten sick during practice.

Now Raph felt a little bad about kicking him in the head. Stupid guilt. Raph hated guilt. Sighing deeply, deciding to make some sort of amends, he glanced over at the computer monitors. "Okay, I'll bite. What's the science lesson tonight, Teach?"

"The heat sensors." Don returned to his chair and pointed to one of the monitors. "They're a particularly useful component to our security, because Splinter rarely leaves the lair and since the four of us are exothermic—"

"Don, I already _told_ you 'bout the big words."

"—oh, for goodness sake! It just means cold-blooded! Anyways, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, because we don't set off the sensors …"

Raphael stopped listening. It didn't take a genius to figure out that tonight's little dip into Don's World o' Digital Fun was shaping up to be a complete snooze-fest. He really wished Splinter would stop making him suffer through this stuff. But after this morning's practice, Raph knew it would be _weeks_ before he could even safely approach the topic of calling it quits.

Idly he wondered what April and Casey were up to at the moment. The big Yankees game was on tonight. Raph bet they were watching it, both of them eating popcorn, Casey drinking beer, April probably drinking one of those frou-frou wine cooler things she seemed to like so much. He wondered if the Yankees were winning.

Suddenly Raphael realized that it was silent. Don had stopped talking. As Raph's eyes once again came into focus, he saw that Don was still sitting in the chair but had turned away. He was staring at the computer monitors. Just sitting and staring, with an expression on his face of utter defeat and desolation.

Raph felt the room seemingly constrict in size, crushing the air out of his lungs. "Donny?"

Without turning, without even flinching, Don replied, "This is _important_, Raph. And you don't care in the least." He reached up and began massaging his head, apparently still aching. "You just don't care."

Raphael couldn't remember ever seeing his brother quite like this. It didn't make sense, and that bothered him. Leo not making sense? Sure. Leo positively enjoyed being a pompous, cryptic jerk. Mikey? Mikey never made sense. But Donny? While Don rarely spoke in a way Raph could completely understand, the times Raph could understand, Don always made perfect sense.

But right now Don's despair was all out of proportion to Raph's supposed crimes. The heat sensors weren't all _that_ important, not even to Don. And the overreaction bothered Raph more than he cared to admit.

He decided that it was time to wise up. Fight fire with fire, smarts with smarts. Though Raph knew he was outmatched in the brains department, he figured he might be able to score a few points regardless. Quietly—more quietly than usual, anyways—Raph asked, "Why is it so important?"

Don blinked, and briefly, almost imperceptibly, panic flooded into those light brown eyes. If Raph hadn't been watching for just such a giveaway, he would have missed it. Point for Raph.

"Like I said, I've gotten really busy—"

That was a cop-out answer, and Raph freely said so.

Don pinched his lips together. His eyes hardened, leaving behind no trace of their former panic. Or any other emotion, really. "Lesson's over," he said shortly, standing up so fast he almost knocked the chair over. Then, without so much as glancing in Raph's direction, Donatello left.

Another point for Raph. Clearly he'd hit a nerve, and that meant he was on the right track.

Raph frowned to himself. He didn't think he was going to get much more information from Donatello directly. But he had a hunch now. That was something. A place to start, anyways. He looked over at the computer monitors, still glowing faintly.

Raph cracked his knuckles. Then he moved over to the chair that Don had just vacated and, taking hold of the mouse, brought up the computer's internet browser. He had work to do.

---

The first thing he felt was cold, naked terror. But he'd never been comfortable with feeling fear, so he swapped it out for much more familiar, soothing anger.

And what anger it was. The rage was nearly uncontrollable. Every muscle, every nerve, trembled with it. Methodically clenching and unclenching his fists, Raphael clomped into the main living area of the lair. His eyes rapidly scanned the room—Mikey watching television, Splinter meditating, Leo running through some katas with his swords—until they locked onto the target of Raph's rage.

He was off to the side, sitting cross-legged on the floor and fiddling with a piece of electronics that Raph instantly recognized as the south-side security camera. Sitting and fiddling away, as though nothing at all was the matter.

Raph's breathing came quick and shallow. He felt almost literally breathless with his rage. When he called out Donatello's name, it was much more of a whisper than the scream he'd been aiming for.

Even so, all eyes snapped up to stare at Raphael. There must have been something in his tone of voice.

Don set down the camera, looking concerned. "What is it, Raph? What's wrong?"

"We ain't stupid, Don. No matter what you seem to think about us, we ain't stupid." He stalked over to his brother and stood there, quivering, towering over him. "We were gonna figure it out eventually."

"Raph," Leo began, but Master Splinter quickly shushed him.

Meanwhile, Don frowned. "Raph, I don't think you're stupid. And I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No idea, huh? How about, oh, throwin' up … sleepin' so much … havin' headaches all the time …" Raphael fixed his brother with a furious, terrified glare.

Don didn't respond. He just looked down at the dismantled camera.

Raph felt suddenly sick to his stomach. Even though he'd known he wasn't wrong about this, he'd been hoping Don would argue. Had hoped Don would deny what Raph was saying. Had even dared to hope that Don would spout out some incomprehensible, brilliant alternative explanation that would contradict everything he'd just been reading online for the last half-hour.

"What is the meaning of this?" said Splinter at last, in a carefully neutral tone. "Donatello?"

Still Don didn't respond, so Raph took it upon himself to speak for his brother. "They're symptoms," he spat out. He tasted bitterness on his tongue, and he rolled it around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it down. "Tell 'im, Don. Tell 'im what those are the symptoms for."

With a quiet sigh, Donatello mumbled something.

"Louder. We can't hear ya."

Don's eyes glared up at Raph as he responded loudly, in an annoyed voice, "I _said_, those symptoms potentially indicate a brain tumor."

Raphael grinned in grim satisfaction. So he really had been right. And, for once, he absolutely hated that. He stared down at his brother, who looked suddenly thinner, frailer. Sicker. He felt the fear start creeping up his spine again, slowly stealing away his previous anger.

Turning abruptly on his heel, Raph headed for the exit and stepped out into the cool dank of the sewers. He walked at a fast clip, feeling his heart pound with each and every step he took.

_A brain tumor._

He started jogging. He didn't know where he was headed exactly. He just knew he had to get away. Away from the lair, away from his brothers, away from Sensei. If he could, he'd leave himself behind as well.

_A brain tumor._

Raph broke into a full-out run.

_Cancer._

---

Raphael sat on the rooftop and thought about the good old days. Before Leo's self-imposed exile. Before the Nightwatcher. Before Cowabunga Carl. Before Don grew quite so standoffish.

That had been a bad two years for all of them, but surprisingly, it had been especially so for Don. Sometimes it was difficult to believe that the guy who had been so idealistically eager to learn of their origins—and had been brought to near tears when he found out that they were mere scientific accidents—had become the turtle who, in more recent days, had stared down Raph with cold disdain while sniping, "At least we're contributing something around here. All _you_ do is sleep all day."

Raph still cringed whenever he remembered those words and, worse, that tone.

No doubt about it, he missed that old Donatello. The one who laughed more, who was gentle and unguarded. The guy who wasn't too big for his britches to do a little skateboarding. He wondered if Don ever missed the old Donatello too.

"Nice night."

Raph didn't question or even look up. "Don't start, Leo. Not right now."

Ignoring the statement, Leonardo sat down on the building ledge next to Raphael, letting his feet hang over the side and dangle in the air several stories above the city streets. Below them the world continued on exactly as it had always been—loud, crowded, neon, New York. Above them, the night sky stretched out to infinity, revealing nothing but blackness and promising nothing but blackness.

Raph sighed. He didn't want to talk to Leo but he was going to have to. Man. He wondered how Leo had even managed to find him. He hadn't told any of his brothers about this secret spot, this place he went to sometimes to clear his head.

"I don't want to start anything," said Leo quietly, a bit defensively. "In fact, I came to thank you."

Raph's brow furrowed. "For what?"

"For being the one to figure out what's been going on with Donny."

Frowning, Raph kicked his heels against the hard, unforgiving concrete of the building ledge. It hurt his heels, but the pain felt good. Raph knew this kind of pain. He understood it. Most importantly, he could control it. Emotional pain was a whole different beast.

"Come back home, Raph. Please."

Raph kicked the ledge even harder. "No. I ain't going back just to … just to watch him die."

"He might not—"

"Leo." Raph turned to face his brother, who was gazing out over the city below. "Leo, don't you _get_ it? He wasn't gonna tell us! Who knows how long he's had this thing stuck in his noggin?"

Thoughtfully Leo nodded, a slight movement. "Do you remember the time Mikey broke our very first television set?" he said suddenly.

"The first—yeah, I remember. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Do you remember what Don did?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he helped Mikey hide it from Sensei." Raph snorted at the memory. "Like Master Splinter wasn't gonna find out eventually …"

Leo smiled bleakly. "And do you remember why Don hid the television?"

"Sure, I do. We was real little then and, smart as the boy genius was, Donny couldn't fix it."

That brought Raph up short. Though he didn't have all the pieces in place, he could get a sense of where Leo was going with all this. Don couldn't fix the television, so he hid it. Raph felt his stomach drop. Don fixed things. That's what he did. And when he couldn't fix something, he didn't know what else to do.

"Donny can't fix this," whispered Raph, voice tinged with sad realization, "can he?"

"I think that Don believes he _is_ fixing things."

Raph looked down at the streets below and rolled his eyes. "By lyin' to us?"

"By teaching you how to run the lair's electronics."

Raph's head whipped around. He stared at his brother, breathing hard.

But before he could say anything more, Leo stood up and brushed off the backs of his thighs. "If you don't come home tonight, at least give Sensei a call to let him know you're okay. He's worried about you."

And with that, Leonardo was gone, leaving Raph alone, with only his thoughts and the city for company.

---

By the time that Raph returned home, the hour had grown very late, and half of the lair's denizens had turned in for the night. Two remained awake, however, each identifiable by their lights sources—soft yellow candlelight was visible from Splinter's room, while a harsh blue glow could be seen from the computer nook.

Without hesitation Raph headed towards the blue glow. He'd talk to Splinter in the morning.

He paused when he reached the nook. He watched Donatello work for a few moments, listened to the rhythmic tapping of fingers on keyboard, smelt the burnt remains of countless half-finished cups of coffee. Then Raph quietly drew a sai from his belt and, taking careful aim, hurled it directly at the computer monitor in the far right corner.

As the monitor sparked and sputtered, Don swiveled around in his chair. He jumped to his feet, opening and closing his mouth without saying anything, utterly speechless.

That was just fine by Raphael. He planned to do most of the talking, anyways. Keeping his voice just below a shout, he said, "You ain't a computer or microchip, Donny. You ain't some junked-up part that can be swapped out for a newer model."

Don just kept gaping.

Raph continued on, voice getting even louder, "And I ain't gonna let you train me to be your replacement. I ain't gonna stand here, twiddlin' my thumbs, and watch you play the martyr." He growled. "And I'm sure not gonna just watch you give up and die on us."

"That's not what I'm doing," Don shot back, temper flaring. "That's not fair, Raph."

"Fair or not, I don't give a care." Raph stepped forward, pointing an accusatory finger. "Because it comes down to this, bro—you are gonna live. You are gonna fight to stay alive with everything you got. Because we need you."

Don rolled his eyes. "I know that! That's why I've been teaching you to take over."

Frustrated, Raph slammed a large fist against the wall. "You still ain't listenin' to me! I know you're smart and all, but can't you just shut up and listen for a change? For one lousy minute?"

Eyes wide, Don opened his mouth as if to reply but then, thinking better of it, snapped his jaw shut again.

"We don't need you 'cause of all this." Raph held out his arms wide, gesturing to the plethora of the electronics. "It's nice, don't get me wrong. And it's saved our shells more than once. But it's got _nothin'_ to do with why we need you."

Don frowned as he adopted a thoughtful expression. After a few moments of silence, he quietly asked, "Why do you need me, then?"

Raph's shoulders relaxed slightly. Don was listening. At last.

The first response that came to Raphael's mind was, _You're my brother_. But that seemed too pat. Too easy. He didn't think Don would accept something that simple and cliché, and Raph really needed Don to keep listening and to accept what he was saying.

Thinking it over, tentatively Raph approached and put his arms around his brother's shoulders. He held him close against his plastron, as though he could protect Don from malignant cell mutations through sheer strength and willpower alone. Finally, in a much softer voice than before, he offered, "It's 'cause you're like air. Most of the time, we can't really see you. Can't feel you, hear you, none of that. But if you weren't there, we couldn't even _breathe_, Don."

"Raph?" Don sounded small and far away.

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

Raph felt a drop of wetness on his shoulder and, clenching his jaw, he tightened his hold on Donatello. As he let his brother cry in his arms, Raph couldn't help but think, _You ain't the only one, bro._

---

The air was cool, almost cold. Raphael sat on the roof of April's apartment building and looked up at the stars. Normally he'd be bored out of his skull, sitting here all alone, but tonight his thoughts kept him well-occupied.

Though he wasn't the strategist that Leo was, still Raph had enough sense to begin to plot out an outline of a plan. Because he couldn't leave things to Leo this time. Not that he ever voluntarily _would_, with anything, but especially not this. Because this might involve stealing, maybe even kidnapping. Raph frowned and quickly revised his assessment. Almost definitely this would involve stealing.

But that was okay. Raphael would steal whatever he had to—MRI machine, chemo drugs, surgical equipment, whatever it took to keep Donatello alive. Leo wouldn't like the stealing, though, and Splinter would probably like it even less. And Mikey just couldn't deal with stress at all. So it was up to Raph. But that was okay too. No matter what happened, Raphael was not going to let Don down.

Whatever it took.

"Raph?"

Immediately Raphael jumped to his feet. "You done talking with April? Already? What'd she say? She think you got cancer or what?"

"Whoa, whoa. One question at a time, please." Walking over to Raph, Don smiled faintly. "We made some tentative plans. First step, we're going to try to get some cell samples to biopsy. To see if it really is cancer and, if it is, what kind."

Raph gave a tight nod. "Then what?"

"I honestly don't know." Don bit his lip. "It's hard enough to fight cancer when you've got access to the best medical treatment and hospitals in the world. But under these circumstances …" He trailed off.

"We'll make do."

"Raph, I don't think you—"

"We'll make do."

Sitting down on the roof's edge, Don elected to not argue it further. _Smart guy,_ thought Raph. He sat down next to his brother while trying to think of something to say. The problem was, he wasn't good at talking. Especially not to Donatello. No, unlike Don, Raphael was not a turtle of words but of action.

So it surprised Raph somewhat when he heard himself break the quiet, saying apropos of nothing, "Y'know, you shouldn't have given away your skateboard to Mikey."

"Huh?"

"I mean, you _loved_ that stupid thing when we were kids. And you was pretty good on it, too."

"Yeah. I was, wasn't I?" Don chuckled. Then he let out a long sigh. "Raph, back when Leo was gone, I know that sometimes I acted like a real jerk—"

"Donny, don't." Raph shrugged. "It's over. It's in the past."

Don rested a hand on Raph's forearm. "Even so."

Quickly standing up, Raphael shook off his brother. This was all getting a bit too real for him. And he couldn't let that happen, because getting real might mean getting upset, and he couldn't afford to get upset when Don needed him to keep things together. Right now they had to concentrate on getting Don fixed up. They could figure out all that brotherly relationship stuff afterwards.

Whatever it took.

As Donatello stood up as well, he said quietly, "You're irreplaceable too. You know that, right?"

Raph wondered if that was his brother's way of saying "thank you." Maybe. Or maybe a cigar was just a cigar. He'd have to ask Don about it later, after Don got better.

"Let's go home." Turning away, not meeting Don's gaze, Raph headed towards the fire escape. "You'll catch yer death of cold or something. Then Sensei'll blame _me_ for it, and he'll make me do a hundred back-flips or something unfair like that."

From behind, Raph heard his brother laugh. "Love you too, Raph."

Swathed in darkness, and therefore safe from all-too-perceptive eyes, Raphael allowed himself a small smile. Whatever it took.


	2. Part II

Author's Notes: This was just going to be a one-shot, but since the response was so fantastic (thank you, everyone) and people seemed to feel the story was incomplete, here's part two. I think it probably goes in a different direction than readers might expect, but I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless.  
Update: Minor revisions 8/23.

**Part II**

Stupid.

Donatello had been so _stupid_.

With Leonardo trailing closely behind him, Don trudged home through the sewers with all the enthusiasm of a man about to face his executioner. April had just confirmed the suspicion that had been building slowly in his mind over the last few days. And now—now—he had to go tell his family. That all the hoopla and upset was all for naught.

That he didn't, in fact, have cancer.

"Well?" Leo tried not to sound impatient but was mostly unsuccessful. His quiet voice echoed off the tunnel walls. "What's the diagnosis?"

Don sighed and clamped down on his irritation. After all, Leo nagged because he cared. He'd even gone through a full-fledged, all-out argument with Raph over who got to accompany Don to Casey and April's place tonight. Which was no mean feat to win, considering that Raphael was dead-set on coming.

Glancing over at his brother, Don muttered, "I'll tell you when we get home, Leo. So everyone can hear it at the same time."

Leo clapped Don on the shoulder, in a big-brotherly fashion, and smiled that charismatic smile of his. "Everything's going to be fine, Donny."

Donatello turned away, swallowing the anger that threatened to burst out of him. They continued walking in silence. Don hated when Leo went into that smug leader routine. He probably hated it just as much as Raph, actually, though he hated it for different reasons.

While Raphael chafed at being given orders, such had never been Don's problem. Donatello worked quite well within structure. Even thrived when given clear, comforting boundaries. That was why Don had been so badly shaken when Leo, on his way out the door, had leaned in close to whisper, "You're in charge while I'm gone, Donny. Look after them for me, huh?"

Then, the selfish jerk had the gall to not resurface for two whole _years_.

"Look after them." As if it was as simple a matter as fixing a broken toaster.

The first year, Don had worked himself to the bone trying to fit into his new and utterly unwanted role, trying desperately to hold his family together. The second year, as the despair settled in like a layer of dust in an abandoned warehouse, Don worked just as hard to forget how he'd failed. To forget that he even cared that he couldn't save his brothers.

Or himself. It was six months into that second year that Don had started getting the headaches. He'd been terrified. He could survive losing a limb … losing mobility … but his mind? No. Never his mind. He'd been so badly frightened that he had prematurely leapt to conclusions, assuming the worst without giving due consideration to the full range of possibilities. Now, that foolhardiness was coming back to bite him in the butt.

So, really, Donatello couldn't help but feel angry when Leo did his leader shtick. Only after the family had been bled almost entirely dry—after _Don_ had been bled dry—only after all that did Leo deign to come waltzing back into their lives. He reclaimed the leadership mantle from Don's shoulders as casually as he'd bestowed it, as though being in charge was some kind of wonderful prize and not a crushing yoke.

"Hey. You okay?"

Don's head jerked at the sudden sound of his brother's voice. Looking over, he saw that Leo's eyes had darkened in concern, and he felt all his previous annoyance slowly flood away. While he had hated those two years, Don could never hate Leo.

"I'm fine," Don lied with hardly a moment's pause.

He sighed again. No, he didn't hate Leo. How could he? Leonardo's long absence had only gone to prove conclusively just how beloved, how important, how irreplaceable, he was to the clan. So no, it wasn't at all the case that Don hated his brother. Instead Donatello just hated himself.

---

Don squirmed in his chair. Four pairs of eyes bored straight into him. _Through_ him, even. Each pair wore nearly the exact same expression of bafflement. As Don's family openly gawked, silence hung over the lair's main living area like heavy velvet, nearly suffocating Don with the discomfort of its weight.

"Diabetes?" repeated Michelangelo, tilting his head.

Meanwhile, Raph folded his arms across his plastron. "That's the sugar disease, ain't it?" His face was a mask of neutrality.

"Uh, yes." Clearing his throat, Donatello clarified, "More specifically, it involves insulin deficiency."

Raph's eyes narrowed. "So it's not cancer?"

"No. I've … I've probably had diabetes for a while now and, when it's left untreated, it can cause kidney disease." Don swallowed thickly. He wished Raph would stop staring at him. "The symptoms of kidney disease are very much like those for a brain tumor."

"Huh." Then, at last, Raph looked away. "Guess even the genius is wrong sometimes."

Don felt stung by that, without really knowing why. He _had_ been wrong. Very wrong. Why shouldn't Raph point it out? Yet Don found himself staring down at his feet, biting the inside of his cheek, fighting back the inexplicable tears that suddenly threatened to spill over.

Then there was a gentle cough, and all eyes snapped up to look at Master Splinter. The old rat sat in the comfiest chair, his place of honor. His whiskers twitched furiously. Finally, he said in his slow, meticulous way, "This diagnosis sounds more promising than the one we feared, Donatello, but does this all mean exactly?"

Donatello blew out his breath, feeling relieved. Sensei wanted to know the prognosis. Don could do that. Almost by rote, on auto-pilot, he explained, "It's a chronic disease—something serious that I'm going to have to manage with some care—but there's no reason I shouldn't be able to live a long, normal life."

Mikey snickered. "Normal? Dude, you're a giant talking turtle."

Rolling his eyes, Raph got up and strolled away. Leo contented himself with throwing Mike a disapproving glare, which was readily ignored. But despite the mild kafuffle, Splinter assumed a placid expression, whiskers lying calm and motionless on either side of his furry muzzle.

Don, in the meantime, watched Raphael in confusion as his brother sequestered himself upstairs in his bedroom. It didn't make sense. He didn't have cancer. Wasn't that a _good_ thing? Every time he felt like he was beginning to understand that crazy, hotheaded—

"Donatello?"

Don blinked and refocused his attention. "Yes, Sensei?"

"Perhaps you could go into further detail for your brothers and I." Splinter's eyes—serious, thoughtful, intent—sparkled in the dim lair lights. "Perhaps you could explain what changes must be made."

Nodding, momentarily putting Raphael from his mind, Don began, "Well, I'll need to take various medications … and probably insulin too, at some point. April thinks she should be able to get all that for me, though, and the money from my IT job should cover the cost." He began rubbing his temples. Another headache was coming on, he could tell. "Oh, and then there's practice and sparring …"

---

"You take those pills?"

Don looked up. Fighting down the urge to roll his eyes, he evenly replied, "Yes, Raph. About an hour ago."

Nodding, Raphael pushed off the wall he was leaning against and ventured further into the computer nook. "Good. Then we're all ready for tonight's little security system lesson, ain't we?"

"Uh, yeah. About that …"

Raph's entire face darkened. "What _about_ it?"

"I figured, since I'm going to be okay, that it wouldn't be fair to force you to keep doing something you hate." Don tried on a smile. "Congratulations. You're off the hook."

"Oh." For a moment Raph looked stricken, but in the next second it was gone. Raph shrugged his bulky shoulders. "Guess I'll get outta your way here, then."

Bewildered, wondering what he'd done wrong, Don just watched as his brother headed towards the door. He wanted to stop Raph—wanted to say something to make things better—but he had no idea what to do. Don bit back a derisive snort. Genius? Hardly. Machines were _easy_. Brothers, though? Brothers were hard.

Then Raph paused, turned on his heel, and walked back towards the computers. He stopped within a foot of the computer station. Before Don could even open his mouth, Raph pulled a hand from behind his back, reached forward, and opened it.

A small collection of hygienically-sealed syringes clattered loudly as they fell onto the metal desk.

Don glanced up into his brother's face.

"I forgot to give 'em to ya," Raph explained, his eyes hooded and cagey. "Can't have you shootin' up sugar with dirty works, y'know?"

Without thinking Don shot out a hand and grabbed Raph by the wrist. He held on tightly, so Raph couldn't run away. "Thank you," said Don, in a voice just shy of a whisper.

Raph nodded in response, staring in obvious discomfort at the brick wall over Don's shoulder. Don let go—he couldn't hold Raph prisoner, even had he wanted to—but Raphael made no movement to leave again. Despite himself, Donatello felt a smile grow on his face with every second his brother remained in the computer nook with him.

Clearing his throat, Raph stated in a contemplative tone, "Y'know, this diabetes thing, it's a perfect analogy here for you and me." As Don raised an eye-ridge, Raph scowled. "Don't gimme that look. I know what an analogy is."

"I didn't say—"

"You was _thinking_ it."

Don decided not to argue and opted instead to remain silent.

Raph grunted. "Anyways, as I was saying, it fits pretty well. When I thought you was on death's door, I got all geared up to do the big hero thing." He rolled his eyes, evidently a bit embarrassed, and smiled in self-mockery. "Y'know, steal medical supplies for you, kidnap a doctor or two, stuff like that. And in battle, I'd jump in front of a bullet for ya without a single regret. For any of you."

"I know you would, Raph." Don did know.

"Yeah." Raph allowed himself a small sigh. "But the everyday ain't about bullets or brain tumors, y'know? It's about fights with Leo and getting the T.V. remote away from Mikey and, like it or not, learning about lair security with you."

Don smiled in understanding. "And about diabetes?"

"And now … diabetes. Exactly."

Don didn't speak for a long while. Then finally, hesitantly, he said, "So, where do we go from here?"

Raph chuckled. "Nowhere to go but up, I guess."

_I hope,_ thought Don, a bit less optimistically.

---

A week passed in relative calm. Donatello tried to get over the shock of being wrong—the shock of not dying—and spent hours staring at his computer monitors, wondering what on earth he was going to do now. So much time and effort had been put into preparing his family for the loss. He almost couldn't remember how to interact with them in any sort of normal manner.

Unsurprisingly, Don decided the answer to these problems lay in making a new piece of electronics.

So it was that on this particular night, brow furrowed, tongue poking out the side of his mouth, Don worked intently on his newest project. He knew he had to work quickly. By his calculations, he had about fifteen minutes until Leonardo poked his head in to tell him to take a break and get some rest. And then, after Don would ignore that, it would only be another ten minutes before Leo cut the lair's power to _force_ Don into taking a break.

Leo, Leo, Leo. Don loved the guy, but …

He sighed. It was pointless stressing over that which couldn't be changed—and Leonardo was as unchangeable as any other force of nature. Instead, Don knew he had to focus his energies into outracing his over-concerned brother. He had a half-hour, give or take. Doable. Imminently doable.

Sure enough, Donatello finished up with a whole five minutes to spare. Carefully tucking the completed masterpiece under his arm, he snuck out of the workshop and over to his bedroom. He stuffed some pillows under the blankets on his bed, arranged in something he hoped would resemble a sleeping mutant turtle, and then snuck back out again.

While keeping a vigilant ear out for his eldest brother, Don approached the lair's entertainment center. The television screen bathed all the surrounding furniture in a soft blue glow. Don hid the new invention behind his back. He took a few more steps forward and, as he did so, he heard soft snoring.

Don gently cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Hey, Mikey. You awake?"

Michelangelo snorted and, jerking awake, fell off the couch. "Hey, Donny." Poking his head up, Mikey rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He grinned. "Whassup?"

"I just wanted to ask if I could have my old skateboard back."

Mike's grin faded.

Don bit his tongue to keep from bursting into giggles at his brother's crestfallen expression.

"Sure thing, Don." Mike pulled himself off the floor and stretched. Trying and utterly failing to hide his disappointment, he added, "Didn't know you wanted it back, or else I—"

Don's giggles finally slipped out, and Mikey's face scrunched up into a confused pout. With a small flourish, Don revealed what he'd been hiding behind his shell. He watched attentively as Mike's confusion transformed into curiosity. Quickly Mike bounded over, and with some care Donatello placed the object into Mikey's waiting hands.

"Whassit, Donny?" Michelangelo danced an impatient little jig. "Tell me, tell me!"

Don beamed with quiet pride. "Oh, nothing much. Just a jet-powered skateboard."

"No way." Mike's grin returned full force.

"Way," confirmed Don, unable to hide a grin of his own. It was an absolutely terrible idea, of course, to give _anything_ jet-powered to Mikey. But Don knew that it made his kid brother happy.

And that it would free up Don's skateboard for return to its original owner. Don's grin widened as he said, in a casual tone, "Bet you can't beat me in a race, even on your new souped-up board."

"What?" Mike blinked and stared in disbelief for several long moments, looking almost wistful. Then he cracked a smile. "You _sure_ you don't have a brain tumor, bro? Because you have lost your mind." He poked Don in the plastron for emphasis as he added, "You haven't been boarding in ages, Donny. You'll get creamed!"

"Au contraire, my dear Mikey. It's like riding a bike. The truly great boarders never forget."

Mike's eyes gleamed devilishly. "All right, then. You're on. And the loser? Has to pay the next time we order delivery."

---

Groaning softly, rubbing his sore elbow, Don unceremoniously dropped his skateboard in the main hallway to the lair. He'd hurt the elbow when he fell off his board … whether for the fifth or sixth time, he couldn't remember. So maybe skateboarding wasn't _totally_ like riding a bicycle. How was Don supposed to realize that? To make matters worse, Mike came prancing into the lair right on his heels, laughing victoriously.

Don ignored him and headed for the kitchen. He fetched an ice pack from the freezer and, holding it to his elbow, wandered back into the main area just in time to see Mikey disappear upstairs with his new skateboard, still cackling. Watching Mike, Don couldn't fail to notice that, despite the late hour, in Raph's room the door was open and the light was still on.

He tossed the ice pack aside and flipped up to the second floor. Nervously he crept to his brother's room, pausing just outside the doorway. He peeked inside. Raphael lay sprawled across his bed, headphones over his head pumping out music at high enough volume that Don could hear from the hall.

Don knocked on the open door. Then, when Raph didn't react, he knocked again, louder.

Glancing up, Raph took off his headphones. "Hey."

Donatello stood in the doorway, fidgeting with his hands, not knowing exactly what to say. Raph sat up on his bed, headphones dangling around his neck. He waited for Don to speak with uncustomary patience.

"The south-side security camera is on the fritz again. I … I think it's the same part that short-circuited before."

"Huh." Raph studied Don for a moment. Slowly he removed the headphones from his neck and set them on the floor. "You need help finding another replacement part for that thing?"

Don felt his body relax a little. "It'd be nice. But I could always ask Leo—"

"Nah," said Raph quickly, standing up. "Leo won't know what we're lookin' for. Neither will Mike."

Happy and relieved, Don nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right."

Raph grinned at that. "I'm _always_ right."

---

Quickly, quietly, the brothers searched through the third dumpster of the evening. It was pretty far from the lair—the ones closer to home had already been picked clean—but, to Donatello's surprise and delight, Raph hadn't complained once about the long trek. Once they got to the current alley, which looked exactly like every other alley they'd visited up to this point, they fell to their work in an uneasy truce of silence.

That had been a half hour ago. With a groan, Don leaned back against the bricks behind him to take a break. Raph's head immediately shot up at the sound of the groan, and he fixed an intense, concerned stare on Donatello.

Don managed a small smile. "I'm all right, Raph. I made sure to check my blood sugar before leaving the lair."

Raph waved away his words. "Nah, I ain't thinkin' about that," he said, rather blatantly lying. He cocked his head. "I was thinkin' about how different we are."

"Don't strain yourself." The overly defensive response came too easily, almost automatically—and the moment the words left his mouth, Don winced in anticipation of his brother's response.

But Raph merely rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Anyways, I told you already, I'm a bullets and brain tumors kinda guy, right? But you know something … you're not."

Don flinched and muttered, "Just because I don't choose to use fear as a—"

"You're not a coward, and I didn't call ya one. Relax!" Raph rolled his eyes. "All I'm sayin' is, that's not your thing. Sure, you'd take a bullet for me, same as I would for you. But that's not what you're good at."

"And pray tell, Raphael, what _am_ I good at?"

Raph grinned with all the enthusiasm of a schoolchild who knew he had the right answer. "The everyday stuff, the stuff I stink at. Keepin' us safe, wrappin' up broken bones, rakin' in the dough."

Don just stood, silent and awed. He wondered when on earth Raph had ever paid enough attention to him to come up with what he'd just said. Actually, he wasn't sure he liked thinking about how much attention Raphael might or might not have been paying. To avoid his brother's gaze, Don went back to looking through the dumpster for the spare part he needed.

Raph continued, undeterred, "When Mikey quit his birthday party job, you didn't. You still do that IT crap."

Don chuckled wryly. "I believe the appropriate cliché here would be … it pays the rent."

In lieu of a reply, Raph only grunted.

Don said nothing as well, instead musing over how oddly poetic was the phrase "bullets and brain tumors." He wondered what kind of poetry Raphael might like if he were to read any. Then, belatedly, he wondered if maybe Raph already read poetry. Maybe Don just didn't know it. There was, after all, a lot that Don didn't know.

"Raph." Don looked up from the dumpster and, feeling suddenly unsure of himself, sucked in his breath. "Do you have a favorite poet?"

Raph froze. While his body remained perfectly rigid, his eyes flashed dangerously. The warning was clear: _If you're pokin' fun at me …_

Despite his apprehension, Don firmly held his brother's gaze: _I'm not._

In a voice quivering with tension, Raphael replied, "Always liked Langston Hughes. Most of that Harlem Renaissance stuff, really." He shrugged with exaggerated carelessness. "How 'bout you?"

Don shrugged with equally calculated casualness. "Li Bai. Du Fu. The classical Chinese poets."

"Yeah, you would." Raph shook his head. "Boring as all get-out, I bet."

Don found himself smiling. "You'd probably think so, yes." After a moment, he thoughtfully recited, "What happens to a dream deferred? … Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?"

Raph barked out a laugh. "Oh, it explodes. Trust me. It definitely explodes."

Don's smile dropped away. He looked at Raph, while Raph went back to digging around in the dumpster, and—there Raph was. Raph had always been there, but had Don seen? Really seen?

_I thought I had to fix him,_ Don realized abruptly, _but I was wrong._ He had been so wrong about so many things for such a long time. He still wasn't used to that. He so rarely ventured out of his fields of expertise that he never really learned how to deal with being this wrong. Guess it was time to learn—and fast.

Before Donatello's thoughts could get any further, however, Raph straightened up with a cry of triumph. In his hand was a small hunk of metal. With a smirk, Raph tossed it to Don, who caught it easily.

Don looked down at his brother's find then back up again quickly. "Raph! This is …" He glanced down at his hands again. "This is exactly the right part we need."

Laughing, Raph winked. "Bet you didn't think I was payin' any attention during Science Time, huh?"

In response, Don smiled and said not a word. He knew better than to take that bet. He'd already lost a bet to one brother today. Donatello was smart enough to not lose to a second.


	3. Deleted Scenes

Author's Notes: All of the following scenes were written to take place after Parts I and II. Eventually I decided I liked the story best where it ended, with focus pretty squarely on the relationship between Raph and Don, so this future chapter got scrapped.

----

**Deleted Scenes from "Irreplaceable"**

"_Oh, boy … leftovers!"  
_—_Casey Jones, TMNT: The Original Motion Picture_

  
Scene 1: Don's diabetes inadvertently leads to conflict.  
Director's Commentary: This happens to be based off real life experience with family members who have suffered from this disease.

"Master Splinter!"

Raphael froze in mid-curl, his dumbbell hovering over the floor. That tone in Leo's voice … nothing good could come of that. Throwing aside his weights, Raph tore out of his bedroom and leapt down to the main level of the lair. Then he all but flew to the kitchen, panting hard, his eyes scanning for what the emergency might be. But he couldn't see anything. There was Donny, by the sink, and there was Leo, standing in front of Don.

Raph felt a scowl forming. If Leo was making a fuss over nothing, as per _usual_, he'd …

Just then, Donatello tried to step around Leo, but Leo stopped him. Gently Leonardo pushed back on Don's plastron. "Don, I already told you—"

"I gotta get home." Don shook his head in mild reproach. "My brothers will worry."

Huh. Raph frowned. Well, this was weird.

Leo threw Raphael a helpless glance over his shoulder. Blowing out his breath in a gusty sigh, he explained, "Don keeps trying to leave the lair, but he isn't making any sense. I …" Quickly Leonardo looked away. "I don't know what to do."

And Raph did? But before Raph could even start to consider panicking, Mike and Master Splinter suddenly arrived on the scene. The elderly rat immediately saw to the heart of things and, ignoring his other sons, approached Donatello.

Again Don tried to leave the kitchen. "Gotta go home now."

"Donatello." Splinter's voice was calm, soothing. "My son, you _are_ home."

Meanwhile, Raphael studied his brother's face. He recognized this, from the internet reading he'd done—the shakiness, the confusion. He tried to remember the word for it but couldn't. Something really medical, sort of Latin-sounding. But he did remember what to do. Turning to his eldest brother, he said, simply, "Orange juice."

Eyes lighting up in understanding, Leonardo gave a terse nod. "Mikey, keep him from going anywhere while I get some juice."

---

Scene 2: Don feels better, but that doesn't fix everything. Or anything, really.  
Director's Commentary: This takes place after Splinter has left the room.

"Donny, what just happened here … what's the word again?"

Don licked his lips. "Hypoglycemia. Low blood sugar."

"Makes you act weird," added Raph.

Shakily, Don nodded in confirmation.

"How did this happen?" Leonardo demanded.

Glancing over, Raph rolled his eyes. "Were you not actually there for the whole discussion 'bout how Donny's got diabetes?"

"I meant," growled Leo, "how did Don's blood sugar get so low?" He returned his attention to Don. "Did you eat lunch today?"

Donatello cowered under his brother's glare. "Uh, well, I was kind of caught up in this project …"

"Donatello!" Leo shook his head in reproach. "Of all of us, you know the most how important it is for your condition to eat regular meals. You have _got_ to take better care of yourself."

Anger flamed up within Raph's chest like a hungry dragon. Where did Leo get off talking to Don like that? Like their brother was some unruly two-year-old? Raphael stepped in front of Don, glowering. "Back off, Leo." He jerked his thumb backwards, towards Don, and continued, "He's fine now. You don't gotta lecture him like you do with me."

Leonardo just snorted. "This isn't about you, Raph."

"Nope," agreed Raph quickly. "But it ain't about you either."

Mikey's voice, soft and tired, was heard muttering, "Oh, man."

But Leo, like, Raph, was too far gone to pay attention. "Come on, Raph, let's get real. Don's a big boy." Leo smirked, ever so slightly. "He doesn't need you protecting him"

Frowning, Raphael felt his muscles clench, his body begin to coil. He was about to say or do something very stupid. But before he had the chance, they all heard Donatello's voice break in, quiet but firm:

"You're _wrong_, Leo. Dead wrong."

And with that, Donny turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving his brothers silent and dumb-founded.

---

Scene 3: Raph submits himself to another science lesson with Don.  
Director's Commentary: The "surprise" was going to be a refurbished motorcycle for Raph.

Raph stood just outside the computer nook, watching his brother's shell with a frown. Every time he thought he had Donny figured out a little, the guy went and threw him a curveball. Why did Don stand up to Leo like that? Don _never_ stood up to Leo. And why on earth would he say that he needed Raph to protect him? He didn't—though not a brawler or ninja perfectionist, Donatello could more than take care of himself in a fight.

Strange, strange, strange.

"For such a smart guy," complained Raph from the doorway to the computer nook, "you can do some really stupid stuff."

Donatello groaned. "Oh, not you too. I already apologized to both Leo _and_ Sensei about letting my blood sugar slip."

"You do it again, and I'm gonna start personally administerin' yer insulin shots to ya."

Frowning, Don didn't reply. Then, a mischievous glint in his eye, he said, "'Administering'? And you complain about _me_ using big words."

Raphael started at that. Was Donny making fun of him? For a moment Raph stewed in confusion and hurt, clenching his fists, before he realized—Don was poking fun, but not at Raph. He was poking fun at the idea that Raph was dumb. Which must mean that despite occasional appearances, Don thought his brother was smart.

_Donny_ thought he was smart.

Raph wasn't quite sure what to do with all that, so he decided to change the subject. "What's the science lesson tonight? Something that goes boom?"

"No such luck, I'm afraid." Don smiled sympathetically. "But I've got a surprise that I think you'll appreciate."

Raph didn't like the sound of that. He didn't like the sound of that at all.

---

Scene 4: Raph and Mike watch the news, and the two brothers chat.

With a mild look of disgust, Raphael watched the news. He wasn't annoyed with the content—that was the same as always, the usual New York crime—but with the news anchor. She was okay. Kinda. She was pretty, more or less, and she read off the teleprompter with relative ease. But she sure wasn't an April O'Neil. And when it came right down to it, Raph missed being able to see April giving the news.

"Hey, dude," Mike piped up from the couch. "Remember how April would sometimes give us shout-outs on the air?"

Raph blinked. Was Mikey clairvoyant now or something? "Yeah, sure I remember."

"Yeah," repeated Michelangelo dreamily. "Yeah, that was pretty awesome."

"It was most definitely not 'awesome.'" Both brothers' heads whirled around to see Splinter standing behind the couch, frowning. The aged master continued, in a gently chiding tone, "A true ninja seeks invisibility above all."

"And pizza," Mike added, grinning. "Invisibility and pizza."

Splinter sighed the deep, defeated sigh that only a parent could properly invoke. In response, Raph chuckled softly. As the old rat left the room while muttering something about "kids these days," Raph and Mikey returned their attention the television screen. Next came a commentary section, wherein the journalist began lamenting the sudden absence of the Nightwatcher's protective presence from the city streets.

Raphael sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Guess you think I'm a big jerk for givin' up this Nightwatcher thing, huh?"

"Nah. Not really." Mikey shook his head, eyes never leaving the t.v. screen. Then, slowly, thoughtfully, he continued, "Hey, y'know how it took Leo so long to come home?"

Raph nodded, a bit hesitant. "Yeah. So?"

"It took guts to come home after bein' gone so long. At least, I'm guessing it must have. How would I know? I've never even been to Jersey." Mike grinned. "Anyways, leavin' us the way he did, I figure Leo must've been ashamed to just come moseying on back in, y'know? And I figure it was probably the same way with you."

Raph frowned. He wasn't sure he liked being compared to Fearless.

Oblivious, Mike continued, "You left every night, bro. Over and over and over." Finally he turned to look at Raph, and there was a strange gleam in his eye. "And even though you kept leaving, you kept comin' back."

"Well, 'course I did."

"Yeah, you did," repeated Mike, smiling. "And the way I figure it? That makes you about the bravest guy ever, Nightwatcher."

Ignoring the sudden warmth in the pit of his stomach, Raphael glowered and slumped down in his seat. "Whatever, Mikey." But he couldn't completely hide a smile. "Ya goofball."

"I'm not a goofball! I'm unique. Sensei says so."

"Yer _something _all right."

---

Scene 5: Don finally confronts Leo about the time he spent away.

"Leo, hasn't it ever occurred to you that Splinter isn't always right?"

Leonardo frowned and replied in a guarded tone, "What exactly do you mean?"

Donatello smiled a bit. "Sensei was wrong. Very, very wrong." Don met his eyes. "It wasn't just you who wanted me to be in charge while you were gone. He wanted that too, and I was the wrong choice. It should have been Raph."

"Now, hold on—"

"It should have been Raph."


End file.
